Always a Thursday
by LilyAurora
Summary: He kept going over the past few days, thinking if he had done something wrong. Said something. But nothing came to mind. Everything had seemed. Fine.
1. Chapter 1

Always a Thursday

By LilyAurora

o-o-o-o-o

He came here to get away.

To escape.

Exhausted from all the questions, the looks. Jesus, how he hated the fucking looks. The pity... fucking pity. Like he should have known it would never have worked out. Should have never kidded himself into thinking the other had loved him. Would love him as much as he had loved him... and he did... he loved him... loved him so fucking much. Still did. Always would.

It hurt so much. His heart fucking hurt. There were days where he wanted to dig it out of his chest. Dig it out and leave it on his doorstep. What use was it to him when it belonged to another. His traitorous heart that beat for someone else, that wouldn't heal like they said it would. Wouldn't stop hurting.

He wiped his face. Fuck when had he started crying. That's all he seemed to do. Cry. He would sit there for hours and just, cry. Remembering softly spoken words. Promises and shared secrets. Kisses and delicate touches. Touches that made him feel special. Just made him feel. He wanted it back. Wanted him back, he didn't know what happened. What he had done wrong.

He shook his head downing his shot, motioning to the bartender for another.

That day, that fucking awful, heart wrenching day. He hated Thursdays now. Hated them. Would sleep that day away in a drunken stupor. They had plans to spend the day together, doing things that couples normally do. So they had planned and he had turned up like they had arranged. Knocking the door only for it to be ripped open. He remembered asking what was wrong, thinking something had happened to one of the pack, that they were hurt, or god forbid worse. But he had just said one word. 'Leave.'

He tried to question, beg him to tell him what was going on but he just stood his eyes flashing as he repeated the word, 'Leave.'

He had stumbled back, tears falling freely as the man before him slammed the door in his face. He managed to walk to his Jeep, his legs felt weak, like spaghetti. He didn't remember the drive home, or climbing into bed. His father wasn't there, away at some conference. He was thankful for that. He didn't want him to see him like this. Weak.

He had woken the next day, checking his phone, expecting to see a missed call or text, saying sorry that this had all been a misunderstanding. Whatever this was. But there were none. Not even from Scott. He tried ringing his best friend but was met with nothing more than his voice mail He threw his phone across the room once he had received the same response from the rest of the pack.

He kept going over the past few days, thinking if he had done something wrong. Said something. But nothing came to mind. Everything had seemed. Fine.

He carried on like that for weeks. Being ignored, left alone to wallow. To hurt. To be in so much pain you can't remember if you took your medication that day, so you take more than realize that Thursday... always a fucking Thursday, was already empty and you had taken Fridays. The following days.

That's when you decide enough. Enough.

Early acceptance into college. His father had been so proud.

He swallowed that shot as well, breaking himself from the memories.

He watched the sea of bodies move to the music, listened to the laughter, their smiling faces. Strobe lights flashed around the club lighting up the faces of many of the occupants. That's when he saw him. The lights had landed on him only for a few seconds, but that was all it took for him to recognize that chiseled jaw. His heart clenched painfully. What was he doing here. He was nowhere near Beacon Hills. That's why he came here, knowing he would never run into anyone. Or so he thought. He was just stood there, leaning casually against the wall on the other side of the club, a smirk playing across his lips as a body leaned into him, whispering into his ear, a hand resting on his waist. He tore his eyes away, head spinning as he swallowed the bile that threatened to escape. He took hold of the bar swaying slightly, knocking into the person next to him.

"Woah buddy," the person chuckled steadying him.

He froze at the voice. His whole body locking, as warm hands held his arms.

He lifted his face slowly. Eyes locking with wide shocked brown ones.

"Stiles?" The name came out as a whisper, but he may as well have screamed it for the reaction it received.

Another body slammed next to them.

Isaac.

"Stiles." He whispered, blue eyes wide and tear filled. Touching him lightly, causing Stiles to take a step back, flinching from the outstretched hand. Isaac pulled away quickly, heartbreak on his face.

He was panicking now. Chest heaving as he looked for an escape. It had been too long since he seen them. He had left. Put the distance between them all. He had fucking left so he wouldn't have to deal with this shit.

He spun on his heel moving through the crowd of people, pushing his way through. He had to get out of here had to leave before he seen him, before he spoke. He didn't want to hear his voice. Didn't want to be close enough to smell him. Fuck. His eyes darted back to where he had run from Scott, their eyes locking for a few moments before someone else stepped into his line of sight.

Derek.

Stiles stopped breathing. He could feel the tears, could feel them cascade down his skin as he fumbled with the handled of the door. He tore his eyes away. Greedily gulping in fresh air, stumbling towards his car. Key in hand as he clambered inside, locking the door behind him. He started the engine, slamming the car into gear just as the exit door flew open with a bang.

Derek stood there, eyes scanning the parking lot, before locking on Stiles. He hesitated for a moment, watched as Derek took a step towards him.

Fuck this, he thought, foot on the gas as he sped away. The figures from his past disappearing in his rear view mirror.


	2. Chapter 2

Always a Thursday

By LilyAurora

o-o-o

Chapter Two

o-o-o

Stiles ran up the stairs, stumbling over each step, tripping over his own feet as he dragged and clawed his way to the top. He couldn't believe, couldn't wrap his head around what had just happened. Like seriously, did that really fucking happen? Or was he having some kind of pre exam freak out. Because come the fuck on, seriously?

He lent against the wooden door of his room. Taking deep greedy gulps of air as he fisted his keys in his right hand.

"Jesus Christ." He muttered thumping his head against the wood. Once, twice, three times until he finally managed to unlock the door and stumble through it.

"Fuck," he shouted, taking hold of the frame before face planting. Slamming the door, he slid to the ground, knees tucked up against his chest. Fingers clenching and unclenching. He breathed deeply trying to calm his erratic heart, to control the panic that was pushing its way through. He bit his lip until it bled, trying to ground himself, to control his traitorous body. His legs were numb from the length of time he had spent on the hard wooden floors. But he couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

It had been so long since he had one of these. So long since he had felt that uncontrollable hysteria.

He tried to breathe, remember the exercises they teach you, to focus his thinking on the word 'calm'. But when you think your heart is going to explode and you can't catch your breath and you have just seen the man who broke your fucking heart. Well, it becomes a little hard to do anything other than panic.

"Stiles?"

Jesus Christ. No.

"Stiles, please I know you're in there. I can smell you."

Fuck... fuck!

"Go away." His voice cracked with the words.

"Please."

He couldn't do this. Why had he followed him, fuck were the others with him. Were they outside as well, listening to him lose his shit. They would be able to hear his breathing, his heartbeat. Smell his panic and fear.

He scrambled away from the door. Dragging his body as he sucked in deep breaths. Nails digging into the floors as he tried to find some leverage.

"Stiles, open the door." The voice spoke softly from the otherside.

He shook his head continuing to move as far away as possible from the door.

The handle rattled before turning slowly. Stiles watched with bated breath, heart pounding against his chest.

"Stiles," the voice called as the door opened slowly, a mop of curls poking their way in first, quickly followed by the tall lithe figure of Isaac.

"Go away." He couldn't look at him. Wouldn't.

"Fuck Stiles, let me help you." Isaac moved quickly, crouching down next to him.

"No! Just... just go away." His feet pushed against the floor. He didn't want him touching him, didn't need his help.

Isaac ignored him, moving swiftly. He wound his body around Stiles' pulling him flush against his chest. The position so familiar.

"Stop fighting Stiles. Just breathe with me, like we used too. Please, just breathe."

Stiles shook his head. Fingers twisting in the fabric of his jeans. The thought of Derek being near, being here. He couldn't.

"He's not here. Scott took him back to the Hotel. I promise you Stiles, he doesn't know where you are." Isaac spoke as if he had heard Stiles' thoughts.

"When we seen you at the club. I mean, when we realised it was you, Jesus Stiles you don't know how happy Scott was, how happy I was," he soothed rubbing circles into Stiles' back as he continued to talk.

"Derek wanted to run after you. To find you, but Scott stopped him. He knew, knew that if you ran there was a reason. A damn good one for not sticking around and speaking to us. The look on your face Stiles. Fuck it broke my heart. So much pain."

Stiles breathing became easier, his body began to relax from Isaac's soft touches. It had been so long since he had needed Isaac this way. Needed anyone to help him.

"Where..." Stiles licked his lips as he tried to speak.

"The other side of town. I swear Stiles we had no idea you were here."

Stiles nodded his head falling forward onto his knees as he breathing returned to normal. The body heat from Isaac was comforting, more so that he cared to admit.

"I don't want to see him." Stiles whispered.

"Ok... Scott?"

"I don't... I'm not sure." Stiles answered truthfully.

"No problem. Do you want me to go? I'll understand if you do, I was just so worried about you. I needed to make sure you were ok, I'm sorry Stiles. For everything, even if I don't know the details. I'm still so very fucking sorry."

"I never blamed you," Stiles whispered. "None of you. This... what happened was, is between Derek and myself. I don't even know what happened, not really." Stiles shook his head moving out of Isaac's hold, turning to face him. "One minute we were fine, then the next... it doesn't matter anyway." He waved his hands about. "What's done is done." He shrugged then.

"You didn't have to leave."

He nodded. "I did. I couldn't stay there, dad understood and Scott he had the pack and you," he smiled softly. "He didn't need me anymore. I never really fitted in anyway Isaac. Never."

"You're pack Stiles."

"Was... I was pack. Not anymore."

"Stiles..."

He waved the other boy off. "Look Isaac I'm fine, it's fine. It doesn't matter anymore. Derek made himself perfectly clear that night. So yeah, I may have been a coward by running away but if I stayed... god it would have been the worst. I can't even think about it without feeling sick. I was so fucking stupid. I mean thinking that he... that he could possibly..." Stiles shook his head.

"That he could what Stiles?" Isaac whispered.

Stiles smiled sadly. Meeting Isaac's gaze.

"That he could love me back." He picked at the seam of his shirt, pulling away from the other boy to stand on shaky feet.

"He loved you Stiles." Isaac added standing gracefully.

Stiles barked out a laugh. "Yeah right. Look, he's your Alpha I get that, you're going to defend you and yours it's natural, but Derek Hale." Stiles shook his head. "He never loved me."

Isaac looked wide eyed. The puppy stare that worked so many times before no longer had the same effect.

"Sorry buddy, but that no longer works on me." Stiles waved a hand in Isaac's general direction. Moving towards the kitchen to turn on the coffee pot.

Isaac stood there just watching Stiles move around his small apartment. Jesus he had never been so shocked in his life until he saw Stiles in that fucking club. Of all the goddamn places it had to be there, and with Derek with them as well. He knew, both Scott and himself that Derek would want to follow him, but it was the wrong thing to do. He had left. Left them all behind. No farewell, no forwarding address. Nothing. When Scott had approached the Sheriff, he had just glared at Scott, snorted before climbing into his cruiser and driving off. They had no clue as to what happened. None of them.

Except Derek.

No matter how many times Scott, screamed, pleaded and near enough cried. Derek refused to talk about it.

"Coffee?" Stiles called out. Pulling mugs from the rack.  
"Yeah, yes. That would be good, thanks." Isaac moved to lean on the counter next to Stiles. He watched as he made them coffee, eyes flicking to Isaac every few moments. It felt strange, the distance, this bridge. There had never been empty space between them before. None of the pack. They always touched one another. Sat impossibly close. Ran a hand across shoulders and down arms. Isaac curled his own hands into tight fists, fingers twitching from the need to touch him. But he wasn't allowed too. Not like that, like pack.

"You doing ok there?" Stiles asked offering him a mug.

Isaac shook himself before accepting the coffee. "Yeah, sorry. Thanks by the way."

"No biggy." Stiles replied, moving towards the sofa.

Isaac just stood there watching, as Stiles slowly lowered himself into the plush cushions. He looked tired, smelt it. The panic attack must have taken a lot out of him.

"Well, don't just stand there..." he said rolling his eyes. "Come sit down."

Isaac all but ran towards the empty space next to Stiles, content with the knowledge he was allowed to stay. The coffee really should have given that away.

"Thanks." Isaac smiled softly, sipping from his mug. He frowned at the mug before taking another sip.

Stiles was drinking from his own mug, watching him carefully.

"You, remembered?"

"Yeah," he shrugged. As if remembering how someone takes their coffee after two years is no big thing.

"Stiles..." He began but was cut off by a flail of arm.

"No. I do not want to do this Isaac, so just don't." He pleaded. His voice maybe stern but his eyes, Jesus Christ his eyes were always like an open book, so was his face you could read everything there. He was never good and hiding his emotions.

"Ok. I'm sorry I understand."

They were silent for a few moments. Both lost in their own thoughts. Until a gentle touch to his thigh pulled Isaac back to the present.

"Maybe... maybe one day. Ok? Just not yet. I need to... something I don't know."

Isaac nodded. "Whenever you're ready."

"So... tell me. How are you and Scott doing?"

Isaac smiled at the change in conversation. Taking in the genuine curiosity Stiles had for his best friend/Ex best friend?

They spent the next few hours talking, Isaac more so than Stiles. Which unnerved him slightly. Stiles was never the quiet one. Never. But he chose to ignore it for now. He would tell him everything that had happened since he had been gone, tell him whatever he wanted to know.

Stiles settled back into the sofa, pulling his legs underneath him as he listened to Isaac speak. He was so tired. So damn tired. He felt as if he could sleep for a week. He nodded and smiled at what he was being told, glad that it had been Isaac that had followed him and not Scott, or god forbid Derek. Because that was something that could wait until, well forever. He had no plans of running into him any time soon.

The soft lull of Isaac's voice comforted him. Jesus he had missed this so much. He was man enough to admit how much he had missed Scott and Isaac. The pair had only just become an item before Stiles decided to leave. A few weeks at most. And he was happy they were still together. Scott deserved that and so did Isaac, he deserved everything good in the world and if Scott was the one who made him happy then Stiles was all for that.

The soft lull had now turned into a gentle murmur. He could feel the mug being taken from his lax fingers, the rustle of the blanket he kept folded on the chair shaken out and placed over him, the gentle movements of a graceful werewolf, laying on the floor next to him. He smiled to himself, face burrowing into the cushions before falling into a deep slumber.

Isaac listened to his heartbeat, the slow steady pace alerting him that Stiles had fallen to sleep. Scrubbing a hand across his face, he pulled his phone from his pocket, sending Scott a text, letting him know where he was.

The reply was instant.

Isaac smiled sadly at the message. Thumbs typing out a negative reply before slipping his phone back into his jeans.

Maybe tomorrow Stiles would be willing to talk a little more.


End file.
